


Flirt Emblem

by FableBerry



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, reader - Freeform, short fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FableBerry/pseuds/FableBerry
Summary: A collection of short (typically done in one or two shots) FIRE EMBLEM CHARACTER/READER fics.So far, characters from FATES and AWAKENING will be included because that's what I've played.
Relationships: Takumi (Fire Emblem)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. TAKUMI: ONE/TWO

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I haven't written anything in a long time, and certainly not on here. So, I thought I'd start fresh with a lot of one-shot collections for fandoms I love. That way, the updates should be frequent and the obligation to do so should be less heavy! Thanks for reading.
> 
> 1\. Rea-chan will always be gender-neutral. Nobody should feel excluded when it comes to lovin' their favorite character.  
> 2\. [h/c]: hair color  
> 3\. [e/c]: eye color
> 
> Disclaimer 1: I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters.  
> Disclaimer 2: I do not own the icon utilized, and pulled it from a Google Image search, "Takumi Icon." Let me know if you're the artist, so I can credit you!
> 
> Fic Specific Commentary: I hope Takumi isn't too OOC. I based a lot of his romantic behavior on the s-rank support conversation with My Unit in hopes of staying true to his personality. Criticism is welcome, but please be nice! I haven't written anything in a long time, and I am 100% rusty af.

**Takumi/Reader: I/II**

“Hey there, [Name]!”

The rhythmic pounding of a mallet against molten iron comes to an abrupt halt—a disjointed _clang_ resounding through the cramped confines of your makeshift blacksmith’s tent to signify the conclusion of your tireless attempts at readying a new spearhead.

“Oh, Hinata,” you blink owlishly at the shaggy-haired samurai before you. “I didn’t expect you today. Is something the matter with Hisamaru?”

Though your gaze remains affixed to the visitor at hand, your hands effortlessly resume their labors and the smoke of the forge and the staccato soundtrack of your work— _clang-clang, clang-clang_ —fill the silence between his replies.

As Hinata steps further into your workshop, he eyes the way your mallet bounces effortlessly between anvil and red-hot metal. The tiniest notion of dread rises through him at the sight of just how good you are with a blunt weapon, and given the nature of his appearance, just how intimidating it would be should you choose to use the skill on _him_.

“Whoo,” Hinata exhales as he rakes the back of his arm against the sweat which had begun to pool across his forehead. He flashes you a grin, and hopes that this display—nonchalant and overheated—will keep your suspicions at bay for now. “Better than me in all of this heat, [Name]! How do you stand it?”

It was unfortunate for Hinata that nonchalance was never his strong-suit, but, conversely, very fortuitous indeed that he had lucked out with his words. If there existed a better topic to broach with a Flame Tribe member than their impressive tolerance, their thriving brilliance, in the face of a fire, not a person in all of Hoshido or Nohr had found it.

“Puh- _lease_ , kid,” you began, and your chest swelled with pride for your homeland. “They say the souls of the Flame Tribe are forged from the Sacred Flame itself!”

Hinata bristles a bit at your impudence as he jabs an accusatory finger your way, “Kid? I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, thanks!”

“And yet here you are coming to me to fix your sword~” you tease, the childish tinge of your words a juxtaposed sight against the expertise with which you dunk the freshly crafted weapon before you in a trough of cold water.

“I swear Hisamaru’s fine!” Hinata assures you, and for added emphasis he gestures to the hilt of the katana at his side. When you remain skeptical—for why else would he seek you out in the middle of the day—he takes his assurance a step further, moving to withdraw Hisamaru from his sheath, and the blade glimmers brilliantly against the firelight of your forge. “See?”

“Certainly, one of my finest works,” you all but swoon in agreement, seemingly very pleased to see how beautifully maintained the blade remains. “So, why are you here?”

Hinata gulps, realizing that the two of you had reached the thick of the matter much more quickly than he had hoped—but really, how much longer could he hope to prolong the inevitable?

“W-Well, you see…”

As the swordsman shifts nervously from foot to foot, your reservations rise. If he hadn’t sought you out on his own behalf, and if he was far too nervous to simply be here for a friendly visit, wasn’t there only one other person on whose behalf he could beseech you?

“You can’t be serious, Hinata,” your tone quiet, but cold as ice. “He couldn’t have already blasted through that bushel of arrows I sent over this _morning_!”

“No, err,” Hinata pauses for a moment, gathering all of the courage he could muster in the moment. “A-Actually, [Name]…”

“He said they couldn’t clear tofu, let alone a Nohrian soldier.”

“ _What_?”

At this point, Hinata is simply thankful to see you unarmed. Inwardly, however, he wonders whether this fact will make a difference in his well-being as he watches the way you bristle with unbridled fury at the sudden appearance of his not-so-subtle fellow retainer, Oboro. His gaze shifts from your livid form to that of the spear-fighter in question who leans casually against the entrance of the tent, arms crossed leisurely against her chest, one shoulder bearing the weight of a rather full and rather pristine looking quiver of arrows, and a cheeky grin seemingly permanent in its affixal to her face. All in all, it is truly an incredulous sight to see just how nonplussed the blue-haired warrior seems to be in the presence of your current bloodlust.

“I know, I know,” Oboro sighs as she lifts her hands in defeat. “Our liege sure is a brave one.”

“More like a dead one…” Hinata murmurs, barely audible, though you shoot a glare his way nonetheless.

“You know, I never _asked_ to be put in this position,” you spit, and every word drips with utter vitriol. “If I had my way, I’d still be apprenticing in my village. You know, the place where people actually have _respect_ for craftsmanship?”

Your mind wanders, as it often did in more lackadaisical times—the monotonous labor of providing for an army that was always in need of arms, and thoughts of home overtake you. It is impossible to determine whether your eyes mist in accompaniment to your anger, or the way your heart throbs with remembrance for the comforts of home. Oh, how you missed the faces of your friends and family, that familiar skyline of yore and the way the great mountain’s smoke billowed forever upwards as if stretching to touch the stars themselves…

“Everyone is appreciative of your work, [Name]!” Hinata assures you, and it is obvious by his overenthusiasm how quickly his apprehension has transitioned to panic at the sight of a crying friend. He could route an enemy in a single slice, but just how was he supposed to know how to handle a situation like this?

“I think my lord is just a little particular about his bow is all,” Oboro remarks casually. Though a stranger might see her as painfully nonchalant, anyone that knew her at all would recognize the way her words had taken on a softer tinge, perhaps the best attempts of comfort someone who’d been raised by the sword could offer in such trying times. “Truly, I see nothing wrong with these myself.”

Oboro relinquishes the burden of the reject-arrows, opting to lean them neatly against the edge of your workbench. As if she had found the load particularly cumbersome in the past, she now stretched her arms upwards and over her head in great relief. A yawn escaped her and she wondered, regardless of the drama at hand, if it was late enough that supper might have been put on by now?

“I see,” you begin, and like the spear-head you had submerged only moments ago, you found yourself beginning to cool. Though it was a mistake to think in the dwindling of your bloodlust that steam wasn’t rising in its place. “Well, if that’s how it is. Maybe I’m _particular_ about my clientele. Maybe this workshop—and all of its byproducts—are off-limits to pineapples from here on out.”

“What? But, [Name]! You’re the only blacksmith we have! How can our lord be of any use on the battlefield with nothing to shoot with?” Hinata exclaims, his expression aghast in horror. He had _one_ simple mission: send the arrows back, return with more. How had this exchange gone so wrong that he would not only be returning empty-handed, but empty-handed FOREVER? “And how could you call him a _pineapple?_ Our lord’s hairstyle is—”

“Hmph,” you harrumph, seeing fit to interrupt his oncoming “ass-kissing” session, and your feet make quick work of the distance between the three of you. You press your leather-gloved hands flat against the small of Hinata’s back, and put all of your weight into sending him forward. “Word around camp is that he’s pretty adept with a katana as well; I’m sure you could always loan out Hisamaru~”

“Hey, [Name]! W-Wait a minute…” Hinata flails, trying his best to dig his heels into the dirt. The friction of his resistance against the ground kicks up quite a bit of dust, but nevertheless you persist.

“I guess this is that famed Flame Tribe temper, huh?” Oboro remarks, her tone exhausted. All thoughts of an early meal will have to wait, as she instead makes a mental note to seek out a solution to the problem before it gets any further out of hand than this. “How troublesome.”

* * *

“Well,” Corrin clears his throat, steeling himself to power through the withering glares now aimed his way. “I’m sure you both have a pretty good idea as to why you’re here.”

At the sound of his words, these poignant looks do not dissolve, but instead dissipate about the room: [Name]’s gaze shifts to that of the great second prince of Hoshido—or at least the royal son who had held the title before Corrin’s triumphant return; Takumi, the noble in question, glowers pointedly back at [Name], though his expression seems to denote something less akin to annoyance and more like hatred instead; Rinka, daughter of the Flame Tribe chieftain and valuable asset to Corrin’s forces too chooses to glare at you—having been summoned to the strategizing tent much like the rest of you because whilst you ultimately all answered to the Hoshidan royal family in this army, when all was said and done with the war—if it ever was said and _done_ —your true allegiance would always be to your people, and their future ruler; Hinata eyed Oboro with a look of mild annoyance, perhaps blaming her blunt nature for the negative turn things had taken; Oboro’s eyes rested disdainfully on the makeshift mess hall in the distance, and the delicious smelling smoke which seemed to rise from its central fire. She envied the few foot soldiers whose faces were illuminated by the flames, gleefully conversing betwixt bites of roasted boar and rich sake.

“Beats me,” you shrug after a moment or two, and your gaze flickers back to Corrin. You do your best to feign ignorance to the situation and, more importantly, to the slight his brother had dealt you. In your mind it was best to appear as unbothered by the prick of his words as he seemed to be of your pride. “But as always, I’m at your service, your majesty.”

At this, Takumi can only snort. “As always? Of course,” he pauses, his laughter a chaste bark of indignance. “You’re at the service of Hoshido only until you’ve gathered enough information to betray us all.”

Your eyes flash in anger and Corrin, having noticed the sour direction of this exchange, takes immediate steps to intervene.

“You aren’t serious, Takumi?” he queries, his eyes wide. “The Flame Tribe clearly chose to ally themselves with our cause a long time ago!”

“My father has never been fond of King Garon in the first place,” Rinka adds in agreement. Your eyes meet her own, and you hope that the expression on your face portrays the deep gratitude you feel towards her. If not for the role she’d played in the whole of your life, then certainly for this moment in which her loyalty to her people held priority over the agitation she surely must have felt for your childish antics with the young Prince. “And the whole of my tribe shares these sentiments.”

“That isn’t what this is about anyway, right?” you add as your gaze shifts once again from Corrin to Rinka to, finally, Takumi once more. “You insulted my work, and this isn’t the first time.”

“How could I trust arrows from a Nohrian spy? One misstep in judgement could be my last,” Takumi replies with a dramatic flailing of his hands.

“Spy?” you choke, and unlike the prince your wits seem far from about you in the heat of this proclamation. “I came here to aid in the war efforts, same as Rinka!”

“Though that was only at the behest of your _people_ , if I’m not mistaken?” Takumi counters with quirked brow, as if daring you to object to this claim.

“Well, of course I’d rather be back at home with my master, as if that wasn’t obvious. Or is it your brain, rather than your hair that’s all pineapple?” you retort saucily, your cheeks burning hot with irritation.

Takumi’s cool finally breaks at the insult, and he fumbles for a clever response, “P-Pineapple? How dare you—”

“ **That’s _enough_**!”

The exclamation is a joint effort on behalf of Rinka and Corrin—the latter of which you had all but forgotten to be of dragon heritage until the moment in which his eyes flashed crimson and his voice quaked with the strength of his ancestors, whilst the former nearly looked the part of a dragon herself with all the authority and hot-tempter that being heir to the Flame Tribe commanded.

“Err,” Corrin begins again after a moment or two of silence has come to pass. It is clear to everyone that he is struggling to regain his composure after the outburst. “Let’s be reasonable about this. We’re all on the same side here.”

“Indeed,” Rinka concurs, and her gaze locks on yours once more, and in her narrowed eyes you see the imploration of “be better, do better as a representative of our tribe.” “The hardships of war seldom leave room for the trivialities of fighting amongst ourselves.”

“And neither does the dinner-bell,” Oboro laments, albeit a bit quietly. “With the two of you at each other’s throats, all of us are going to miss out on the food.”

“Yeah,” Hinata agrees easily, and you note that this is the first time he’s spoken up in a while. It’s likely that the fear he harbored for your temper and Takumi’s combined was enough to render him uncharacteristically silent—just in case either of you saw fit to turn that anger his way, of course. “A-Are you trying to starve us? Haha,” he squeaks pitiably.

“I couldn’t possibly be on the same side as someone with Nohrian blood,” Takumi assures with an air of indignation. His hubris probably prevents him from noticing—or caring much—for the way both you and Corrin recoil at these words.

“How do you even know a single thing about my blood? How could you even know a single thing about me? Oh wait, you _don’t_!”

Takumi laughs in the face of this declaration, tossing his head back for good measure, “Oh really? You don’t think we’d want to be debriefed on strangers we welcome into our folds? Do you think my brother would accept just anyone so willy-nilly?”

“If that’s why you’ve been giving her grief, Takumi, I have to admit that any reviews Queen Mikoto and Ryoma had done of our Flame Tribe allies were unremarkable as I recall,” Corrin states rather rationally.

Well, you hadn’t expected to have been “checked out” before being welcomed into the ranks of the Hoshidan army, but you supposed you could see why it had been necessary. What you couldn’t see however, was what was wrong with you in Takumi’s eyes?

You had Rinka’s family to thank for the whole of your existence as, after your parents had passed away—an untraditional coupling of a Flame Tribe merchant and the pretty Nohrian maiden he’d met on one of his many voyages to exchange goods with nearby townships—the village’s natural distrust of foreigners had left them loathe to take you in. Though your father had been revered for his business instincts and charismatic personality, the fact remained that your mother would always be an outsider. When many of the tribesmen had opposed their union in the past, they couldn’t be expected to have changed their mind once said union proved fruitful, could they?

With this calloused mindset like a miasma over the village, the first year of your life after your parents’ passing made a penniless beggar out of you, and it was where, one fateful day, a young Rinka would find you, matted hair and dirt-covered skin peeking out from beneath the frayed edges of an old nightdress, pleading desperately with the baker for a bit of turned bread. Though her stony disposition had been present even at an early age, it broke her heart to see any of her people suffering in such a way. Thus, it happened that what was arguably her first act of political diplomacy as future chieftain came to pass—and the way she had marched her tiny, seven-year-old form up to her father and demanded that the kindness of the Flame Tribe should extend to even _partial_ members changed your fate forever.

Your chieftain, perhaps deeply amused with how passionately the fire burned in his young offspring’s spirit, took pity on the both of you. And really, didn’t it improve the overall ambiance of the village to find something beneficial to do with its juvenile vagabond? Wasn’t it of no effort at all to place you in the care of the local blacksmith, a stone-faced behemoth of a man whose gruff disposition always left him lacking in voluntary apprenticeships? And thus, a decade or so of hard work and gratitude passed between you, served rather peacefully at home, before the present war saw fit to drag you from your village. Through your master’s tutelage and your natural talents at the forge, the Flame Tribe’s opinion improved gradually. Nonetheless, it was not improved upon enough that your fellow tribesman should look elsewhere when it came to someone to send off to war, a pawn in the game of political alliance. And, though you hated to admit it, as much as you were homesick at the moment, you felt duty-bound to accompany Rinka wherever she roamed and whatever the conflict even if you had not already been asked to go.

“All this time I thought you were being difficult because you were too obsessed with yourself and your precious, _sacred_ Fujin Yumi, but really you’ve been making my life difficult based entirely upon asinine assumptions about who I am based upon who you expect I should be?” you exclaim, tugging at the ends of your [h/c] locks in abject frustration. “And as much as you may think you know about me, I’ll bet that you either didn’t know or didn’t bother to comprehend that I don’t have a single memory of my Nohrian mother! So really, pineapple-head, who is the more suspicious one here—the one with a Nohrian mother they’ve never met, or the one with the brother who practically grew up in Castle Krakenberg?” your annoyed rant is concluded with a quick apologetic look in Corrin’s direction, “No offense intended, my liege.”

“None…taken,” Corrin murmurs slowly, perhaps as taken aback by your spiel as the rest of the room. He takes a moment or two to regain his composure before adding for good measure, “And actually, it was the Northern Fortress.”

“It’s not like I’ve allowed myself to fully trust Corrin yet either,” Takumi mumbles, refusing to meet the gaze of anyone around him. You assume this can only be due to the way the soft pink taints the pale skin of his cheeks—an obvious indication of his embarrassment. “And if I can’t be sure of your loyalties, then I can’t be sure of your arrows. Say you poisoned them or made them purposefully faulty?”

“The way things are looking, my lord, it seems like if she truly meant you harm, she could do it with her bare hands,” Oboro interjects, the fatigue evident in her voice.

“Well, I have a better idea,” Corrin offers, and you are unnerved by the devious smile which overtakes his features. “[Name] is right about one thing, at least. You don’t know her, Takumi. And they don’t know you. Maybe the two of you would come to an understanding if you actually spent some time together? I mean, I’m absolutely certain that [Name] isn’t a spy—and isn’t out to get you, for the record, and, [Name],” Corrin pauses in order to turn to you. “I’m just as certain that Takumi means well once you get to know him. It’s difficult to be in a foreign land and have your every move criticized, _believe me_ , but at the end of the day Takumi has one of the kindest hearts in the whole of Nohr or Hoshido.”

Corrin’s words have little time to be processed by the rest of you before Rinka speaks up—an action that, for the second time in your life—will forever change your fate, “You may not realize it, my lord, but [Name] is as talented on the battlefield as they are in the workshop. It could prove beneficial for everyone involved to try pairing them up once in a while…”


	2. TAKUMI: TWO/TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer 1: I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters.  
> Disclaimer 2: I do not own the icon utilized, and merely pulled it from the depths of Google Images. Let me know if you're the artist, so I can put credit here! Thank you!

**TAKUMI: II/II.**

****

Takumi certainly hadn’t pegged you as an axe-wielder. For all of the grit and machismo you tended to radiate around your forge, somehow, he had expected far less from you on the battlefield. His initial impression of you—the probable foreign spy—had tended to lead more towards a thievish dagger or a treacherous tome, tucked inconspicuously about your person. So, it was quite a shock to his system the first time the two of you had been paired up in battle and you had jumped effortlessly into combat with an enemy berserker who had thought it a prudent idea to rush the two of you, mid-bicker. You might have looked like easy pickings in your uncoordinated assemblage, but this proved to be a mislaid assumption at once when the glistening steel of one of your dual battle-axes found itself nestled in the dewy grass, merely inches from said attacker’s face. Despite himself, Takumi had bristled then. His thoughts had instantly drifted back to Oboro’s taunting remark of days passed and how easily it could have been him there, had [Name] willed it so.

“Watch where you’re aiming that thing,” Takumi had remarked rather snidely in the moment, determined to keep his momentary awe from eclipsing his overall judgement of the person at hand. Certainly, you had bested your foe, but you hadn’t slain him. How was Takumi to know that you weren’t merely putting on a show at his expense?

“I’d say the same of you if I’d have seen you take aim at anything at all,” you had shot back, your wit as quick as a Kinshi in flight.

Takumi had become flustered at this observation, attempting to sputter out some sort of clever retort that would put you in your place and will the pink away from his cheeks, as he worked himself into a sniping frensy—the volley of his arrows against the skyline like flashes of lightning amidst a storm. He had made quick work of the surrounding Nohrian forces then, but failed to notice the way his motivations had changed. In that moment, he was no longer hell-bent on revenge, but instead fixated only on a single thought, _‘[Name], are you watching?’_

The back-and-forth of your tumultuous duo continued on like this for some time, and your daily life had transitioned so starkly from the days of mindless crafting to a colorful routine of daily battles at Takumi’s side to nightly upkeep of a well-stocked armory. At the behest of Rinka, who had felt that combat would put too much on your plate, Corrin had even seen fit to permit you an apprentice or two to help you whittle away at the work which, for a blacksmith, was never done.

Your newfound arrangement had meant that you simply could not refuse service to Takumi—not that Ryoma or Corrin would have permitted you to anyway, mind you, but it didn’t keep the prince from complaining at every available opportunity. You supposed that by now he must have realized that there was nothing purposefully faulty or tainted about the loaded quivers you sent his way, and that his lone incentive could only have been to make you miserable. Whenever your apprentice or one of the prince’s retainers would drop off a refill of supplies, Takumi would shift the load about in his hands, feigning interest in the sharpness of the arrowhead or the strength of the shaft, murmuring discontentedly to himself all the while, before finally coming to accept what you had bestowed upon him. And, in fact, for all of his showboated displeasure, you noticed that not a peep of complaint could be found when it was _your_ arrows he was using to peg down the Nohrian forces. Just as his critiques had taken on a gentler—perhaps more playful tone—you found your own grievances with the prince himself to be less severe as time went on. Of course, he was impudent and utterly impossible on occasion, but wasn’t he also just the tiniest bit charming now and again?

When he wasn’t accusing you and Corrin of malevolent motives or suspicious activities or denouncing your craftsmanship, he was _almost_ a tolerable human being, and you found the way he conducted much of his leisure time to be even closer to tolerable in itself—the way he insisted on miso soup for every single breakfast, the way he delighted in a good game of shogi with anyone foolish enough to agree, and, perhaps, even the rather silly way in which he upkept his hair: half up and unruly, half like a river of silk down his back.

It was only too unfortunate for you and Takumi that you were not the only ones to notice the shifting mood about the two of you, and the way things seemed to teeter slowly towards genuine amicability—daresay, fondness even, rather than the animated bitterness that had become your trademark interaction.

* * *

“Man, [Name]. You’ve got it _bad_.”

At the sudden declaration you all but yelp, the onigiri in your hands thuds against the ground and rolls towards the feet of this unexpected visitor to your personal quarters. Heat rises to your cheeks as your gaze shifts to them, and you are taken aback to discover that it is the resident future chieftain of the Wind Tribe who stands before you now.

“H-Hayato,” you squeak, and you hope to appear startled rather than embarrassed at the sight of him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

The baby-faced diviner smirks devilishly at you, and you feel your worst fears to be realized—had he caught you staring? Wait, no! You weren’t _staring_ —you—you were strategizing, yes! That’s why you had allowed your gaze to linger on the distant form of a particular yumi-user, as he and his beloved weapon faced off against a sea of straw targets. You were merely observing his progress to learn more—and ultimately synchronize better—with your battlefield partner. Additionally, it wasn’t your fault that the front of your tent happened to provide an easy view of the archery field. And, at any rate, who’s to say that you were even looking _at_ Takumi, anyway? You were merely attempting to enjoy a simple lunch at home, as far as anyone else should be concerned.

“Oh really?” Hayato inquires, a mischievous glimmer in his eye. “Don’t you usually take your lunch in your workshop? As I recall, you seldom even set aside the time to eat in the first place. It’s an interesting change of pace to see you now…”

You blanch at the insinuation you perceive him to be aiming at as you rise clumsily to your feet. “I’ve got assistants now, thank you very much! Can’t a [girl/guy] take a break every now and again?!”

“Well, if that’s how it is,” Hayato begins, eerily casual. “Then I suppose there was no point in making you this.” He opens his right hand, previously having been a fist pressed against his hip, and some sort of heart-shaped charm on a small length of chain dangles from his index finger, seemingly taunting you as its pendulum swing echoes the “doki doki” pulse of a beating heart.

“W-What is that?” you query, trying your best to seem less interested than you are. The truth of the matter was that you really didn’t need to ask. Ever since he had been recruited to Corrin’s forces, he had been known to peddle a variety of charms to any villager he should encounter. Though you knew him capable of enchanting charms for any number of specific benefits, the rather _romantic_ shape of this particular charm left little to be confused by.

“It’s obviously a love charm,” Hayato explains matter-of-factly. “You know, to help you with Takumi?”

“E-Excuse me?” you sputter incredulously, your entire body crimson with embarrassment. “I’m not interested in that jerk. Have you forgotten that he thinks I’m a spy?”

“I guess you haven’t heard about the pool Oboro has got going, huh?” Hayato retorts, chuckling softly to himself. “I normally don’t give these away to just anybody, but I’ve got a lot of money riding on sooner rather than later.”

“Pool?” you blink owlishly at this reveal. Is he suggesting that there’s some kind of camp-wide pool going that involves you and Takumi? “What exactly are you betting on?”

“The fact that you two were made for each other. My divination skills are unchallenged, you know,” Hayato elaborates, seeming to relish in the way you squirm about in your seat, clearly uncomfortable to have your feelings under such scrutiny.

By now your nerves have steeled themselves a bit, and you are able to address the cheeky diviner a little more gracefully, “Putting aside the fact that Orochi would probably beg to differ with you there, I can assure you that I’m not interested in that pompous prince. Corrin’s the one that made us team up in the first place, otherwise we’d probably have killed each other by now.”

“Huh,” Hayato remarks as he jabs his thumb in the direction of the archery training grounds. “Well, aren’t those your arrows he’s using?”

Your gaze follows the direction of his finger until finally coming to rest on the fatigued form of Prince Takumi who, at the moment, appears to be retrieving arrows from the straw depths of bullseye-marked dummies lined up before him. Takumi, noticing your gaze for the first time that afternoon, glances your way for a moment or two, nods in salutation, and then returns effortlessly to his business. Under the heat of his momentary gaze, you look away almost immediately, thus earning yourself a hearty snicker from the brunette before you.

“Wasn’t the whole issue that he didn’t trust your craftsmanship? It looks like that problem is long gone; don’t you think?” Hayato asks pointedly, and the exchange between you and your battle partner does not go unnoticed by him—just as the repetition of them had failed to go unnoticed by the whole of the Hoshidan forces. Whether it was the way the two of you were at each other’s throats, or the protective way in which you battled, side-by-side, in every skirmish, or even the way in which, at any given time, one of you could be caught red-handed in the act of swooning over one another. Just as it was no coincidence that you now chose to take your lunch in view of Takumi’s training, was it any coincidence that he—a royal always equipped with matters of greater importance to attend to then nailing a few targets again and again, the likes of which he could probably expertly assail backwards and blindfolded by now—chose to train every afternoon in plain view of you and your lunch.

You knew that there was only so much arguing to be done with Hayato, or anyone that chose to make the same argument as he had for that matter, and only so many times you could feign complete disinterest in Takumi. Certainly, he had been a royal pain in your ass once upon a time—or better yet, once upon an occasion, but he had also been just as valiant and kindhearted as his elder brother hand claimed him to be. During a battle, hadn’t he always had your back? Sure, his expression may have shown displeasure or his tone a taunting tinge, but he had never once let you come to harm in his company. Hell, he had even been known to compliment you on your impeccable takedowns of “Nohrian scum” from time to time.

If you were feeling transparent, you would admit to the male before you just how much Takumi had come to mean to you. He had become a friend, a rival, and—well, your heart couldn’t dare hope for any more than that. It didn’t matter how your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of him valiantly outshooting any foe in the heat of a fight, or the way your pulse quickened at the appearance of his arrogant smile. At the end of the day, the fact would always remain that—

“The problem, Hayato, is that he’s a _prince_ of Hoshido, and I’m a half-Nohrian orphan.”

Something in Hayato’s look softens at your defeated revelation, your voice barely above a whisper and your [e/c] eyes cast downwards to the ground somewhat shamefully. With one swift motion, he tosses the tiny charm your way.

“I was going to charge you for this, but you know what? You should just keep it,” Hayato remarks as you, momentarily startled, fumble to catch the charm.

“R-Really, Hayato. I don’t need this—I couldn’t possibly accept—” you fumble sheepishly for something intelligible to say. The charm, now dangling from your own hand, is shoved gingerly back in Hayato’s direction.

“No really, [Name]. I make those charms special to the person, anyway,” he murmurs gently, a blush adorning his cheeks at having to be quite so delicate and sentimental—a behavior most unbecoming of a dashing diviner such as himself. He takes quick strides towards you before kneeling down to your eye level. His small hands encase your own as he pushes them softly back to you. “This one will only work for you and Takumi.”

“Will it, erm,” you pause, refusing to meet his gaze. “ _Will_ it work—for me and Takumi?”

* * *

“[Name], look out!”

All of the air in your lungs escapes you in one painful “guffaw” as an elbow makes rough contact with your side, thus sending you tumbling to the side, axes flying forward from your grasp. Your knees make painful contact with the ground, definitely skinned from the contact, but at least, for the moment, you are safe.

“I’ve got your back, my liege!”

Before your eyes, Hinata charges forward, the imposing form of a blood-tinged Hisamaru outstretched. You grimace both at the sight of it, as well as the fresh sting of crimson liquid that has begun to dribble down your legs, and you regret how little your expression must convey your gratitude.

Despite your better judgement, you had gotten distracted in the heat of battle just long enough for an enemy soldier to have gotten the better of you. Had it not have been for Hinata’s blazon display of bravado, and for, of course, the fact that you had been shoved so quickly out of the line of fire, it was safe to say that you would have been run clean through with a spear by now.

“Are you okay, [Name]?”

At this sudden inquiry, your attention turns from Hinata and the skirmish at hand to the sound of this new voice. Somehow, it is only now that you begin to notice the weight of something against your back, and the tingling sensation of a hand against your shoulder. You eye the aforementioned body part with apprehension, and your gaze follows it up leisurely past the oddly familiar blue fingerless gloves, up and over the worn leather arm brace and so on until, finally, coming to rest on the close proximity of the youngest prince of Hoshido’s handsome face.

“T-Takumi,” you breathe, your voice jumping an octave in mortification. You struggle to scoot away from, desperate to keep him from noticing the red-tinge creeping up your neck and across your startled face. “You—uhh, you saved me.”

Feeling somewhat bashful at this proclamation, Takumi himself seems to become a bumbling mess. “Yeah, w-well. Hinata would have gotten to you if I hadn’t…”

In the moment, the two of you seem easily able to ignore the boisterous clangs of metal on metal, the vibrant flashes of well-cast spells, and the anguished cries of battle all around you. In fact, even the sight of Hinata cleaving through a whole squadron of spear-fighters begins to fade into the background, and, for a time, it feels as though Takumi and you are the only ones there.

“Oh,” you murmur, and you inwardly curse yourself for the disappointment which now ensnares your heart. “I guess you wouldn’t be that concerned about a potential traitor like me, huh? You must have been doing your duty so that you didn’t end up with an earful from Corrin and Rinka later, of course.”

Takumi, as oblivious as he has remained throughout the entirety of your fledgling partnership, seemed oddly perceptive for once. He scoots closer to you, doing his best to remain stone-faced at the way in which his side throbs at the sudden motion. He reaches out a hand to your shoulder once more, only with the two of you now fully facing one another. Although he hopes his comforting gesture might be enough to assuage your concerns, he realizes that you deserve much more from him after all of this time.

“ I wouldn’t say that, though I have no doubt in my mind that your future chieftain and her axe would run me down in no time flat,” Takumi begins, his words followed by a leisurely chuckle at the gruesome thought—as if the thought of which didn’t actually terrify him. “I guess I should have apologized for this a long time ago, but I believe you to be true to the cause.”

“What are you saying? You _believe_ me—about my mother?” you query incredulously with wide eyes.

“I should have believed you from the start. I-I guess when you grow up watching an enemy nation take and take and take from you—all the people you hold dear—it takes a toll on your heart. I know that doesn’t make up for the way that I’ve treated you in the past, or the way I’ve treated Corrin—”

“Hold that thought!” you interject with alarm, diving forward as the two of you narrowly avoid the blast of a fire spell sweeping through. For the second time in the last hour, you find yourself cursing at your own ignorance. Were the two of you really trying to do this now?

“I’ve got it!” Oboro exclaims, and you see not but the blur of her boots and the whirl of her skirts run through your periphery. “You lovebirds just stick with what you’re doing, and we’ll all be in Naga’s good graces tonight.”

Perhaps it is the romantic insinuation of Takumi’s most irritating retainer, or _perhaps_ the fact that the two of you now find yourselves in closer proximity than ever before—your body pressed tightly against his, an unintended consequence of shielding him from harm, and your faces mere inches apart which now sends the both of you reeling in embarrassment. The sight of Takumi’s face, now the color of the Hoshidan flag, leaves you mortified about whether or not yours was in a similar boat, and you seek to create as much distance as possible between the two of you before he takes note of it.

“I know about the pool, you know!” you exclaim rather heatedly, moving to push yourself upwards and into a sitting position—a good first step in your head, but ultimately a more embarrassing predicament when you find yourself to now be straddling a Hoshidan royal, mid-battle.

“Pool?” Takumi questions inquisitively, and, internally, he is as relieved as you are to have something different to divert his attention to. Of course, he could always have busied himself with contemplating exactly how he would get back at Oboro for this instead. Nevertheless, his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

The prince below you is just as frustratingly gorgeous as ever, even as his innocent inquiry seeks to shatter any semblance of composure you might have left. You bristle at the topic, but realize that if you should hope to maintain his trust, maybe lying to him would be the worst way to go?

“A-Ah,” you murmur sheepishly, deeming it best to look anywhere but him. “It’s completely facetious, of course, but…”

“But?” Takumi probes once more, and though you refuse to turn your gaze, you cannot help but to feel his own burning through you.

“Your retainer thought it wise to place bets on whether or not, well…” your words falter, and you find that your nerves have rendered you virtually incapable of continuing.

“Surely it can’t be that bad, [Name],” he reasons, impatience getting the best of him in the moment.

“You think so?” you screech, and the level of effort it takes to continue the conversation leaves your voice sounding awkward and pained. “Well how does it feel to know that the entire army is making wagers over whether or not you’ll—and this is the truly laughable part—end up with your _blacksmith_?”

The sudden silence between you is somehow so much louder than the chaotic clamor of the battlefield, and you find yourself half-hoping that another enemy will break past the prince’s retainers just long enough to put you out of your misery.

“Err,” Takumi frowns, and you feel every inch of your body overflow with dread. So that’s how it was going to be, was it? You’d nearly died on the battlefield, and now your big, stupid mouth had forced you to nearly die again, sitting through the rejection of a love Takumi mustn’t have even realized existed in the first place. “This is probably going to be hard to hear…”

“Haha,” you chortle, albeit painfully, as you dismiss his warning with a wave of the hand. “Y-You don’t have to worry about me, my lord. It’s just a completely unfounded, _completely_ fastidious idea on Oboro’s—”

“As much as it pains me to have played so easily into the hands of our merciless comrades, it would be wrong of me to deny my feelings on that fact alone,” Takumi murmurs. You feel deeply confused by his words, and turn your head to face him once more. Glancing down at him, you notice his discomfort for what it is for the first time—timidity—rather than the annoyance you had always pegged him for.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” you retort quietly, your cheeks so hot that you can no longer be certain that you had really avoided a graze of that enemy spell from moments ago.

“Agh!” Takumi exclaims in sheer frustration, and his fingers curl around the dirt beneath him. “I’m trying to say that I _do_ like you, [Name].”

“You don’t have to be so nice to me on Corrin’s account, Takumi. I understand. You’ve retracted your sentiments about the whole espionage thing, but you don’t have to keep—” you speak quickly, prattling on in the panic and confusion of his words. He wasn’t saying what you thought he said. You wouldn’t allow yourself to hope for such things!

“Damn it, [Name]. I mean, I _really_ like you. I’m in love with you,” Takumi pauses, an amusing thought crossing his mind. “And your stupid—though actually perfectly usable, I suppose—arrows.”

Your jaw practically falls to the floor at this reveal, and now you are certain that the whole of your body is beet-red from the shock. “But you’re a _prince_!”

Takumi scoffs at this interjection. Having fully committed to this confession, there was no reason to tone things down now. He’d might as well be completely honest with you, as you had always been with him.

“And you’re infuriatingly hot-tempered, impeccably gifted both at the forge and the sword. You’re always teasing me with that—that _taunting_ grin, and leaving me in awe every day of your limitless dedication to my people and their country. I’ll admit that I wanted to dismiss you as treacherous without actually getting to know you first, and for that, I deeply apologize. But after the months we’ve spent together, fighting for Hoshido side-by-side, it’s gotten far beyond the simple question of, ‘should I trust you?’ And even when you’re driving me to my wits end with that unfailing wit, I instead find myself asking, ‘How can I stop thinking about you, [Name]?”

“T-Takumi…” you begin, leaning forward. You place your hands flat against the earth on either side of his head, for once finding yourself unable to shake the need to be closer. Tears of joyful disbelief threaten to spill forth from your eyes at the weight of his words, and the prince reaches up a gentle hand to wipe at the corner of your eyes with the edge of his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to burden you with this,” Takumi mumbles sheepishly, though his gaze does not once waver from your face. “I know that I can’t expect you to forgive me for how much of an ass I’ve been, and I certainly can’t expect you to—”

“I love you too, Takumi. At first, you were only an obstacle in my work day—an annoyance in my daily life. And, can you blame me for feeling that way? I went through so many iterations of arrows, trying to meet what I presumed to be your impossible standards. Then, I was crestfallen to discover that, like the rest of my village, there was another person who hated me for who my parents had been, and not for the person I am now!”

Takumi nods wordlessly at your speech, regret pooling in the pit of his stomach at the actions of his past. Though you have answered his feelings most favorably, his guilty conscious has scarcely allowed him to focus on such.

“When Rinka convinced Corrin to pair us up, I was angry at first. I didn’t want to spend another second with you, let alone any number of battles in which I could prevail upon you to keep me safe. To be honest, I was certain you would let me die just to be rid of what you perceived to be a threat to your country. However, you surprised me each and every time you pulled me out of harm’s way, and kept me on my toes from that moment forward. I couldn’t help but to become enamored with you and your stupid pineapple hair, your arrogance in your marksmanship, the way your eyes sparkle when you’ve conned another unsuspecting victim into another round of shogi, or the contended smile that encompasses your features every time you set down to enjoy a bowl of miso soup and a cup of tea. No matter what you may have thought of me in the beginning, in the end, Takumi, you were all _I_ could think about.”

You can’t help but to find it enchanting—the way the otherwise ostentatious prince to be squirming in embarrassment beneath you. His cheeks are dusted pink, and his lips are parted in surprise at your reveal. Like you, he hadn’t dared to find his feelings reciprocated, and he certainly hadn’t dared to expect such sentimental words from you on his behalf.

Words escape you both now, and you cared little to find them again. Instead, you found yourself leaning slowly, gently forward in attempts to close the distance between you. Takumi’s eyes seemed as wide as cups of sake as your lips crashed desperately against his own—a wondrous outlet for the longing which had accumulated over months and months within you. It took only a few seconds of processing on Takumi’s part before his arms snaked around your frame, and he pulled you nearer in attempts to deepen the kiss, his tongue encircling your own in a passionate dance.

“Well, it looks like my charm was a little _too_ potent.”

The two of you break away at once, startled to discover that you now have an audience, albeit one man strong.

“ ** _HAYATO_**!”

“I guess Oboro wins after all,” the aforementioned diviner remarks coolly, obviously nonplussed by the pair of glowering expressions now aimed at his head.


End file.
